blankets under Adam's arm; glowing noons, when the world swam in
ecstasy; long pulls at the oars from point to point of this magic lake,
she holding the trolling-line at the stern of the boat, her husband
sometimes resting and leaning forward to get her smile at nearer range
upon his face; plunges into the warm lake-water in the afternoon when
time stood still in a trance of satisfaction:--what a honeymoon she was
having! Why should it ever end? There were responsible folks enough to
carry the world's work forward. Two people might be allowed to spend
their lives in paradise, if a change of seasons could only be prevented.
Anyhow, Eva was soaking up present joy. She half closed her eyes, and
whispered fragmentary words, feeling that her heart was a censer of
incense, swinging off clouds of thanksgiving at every beat.

Adam came from the spring with a dripping pail. A fret-work of cool
drops stood all over the tin surface, even when he set the pail beside
his heated stove. That water had been filtered through moss and pebbles
and chilled by overlaced boughs until its nature was glacial.

The cooking-stove stood quite apart from the tent, under a tree. Blue
woodsmoke escaped from its pipe and straight-way disappeared. A covered
pot was already steaming, and Adam filled and put the kettle to boil.
Not far from the stove was a stationary table, made of boards fastened
upon posts. The potato-cellar and the cold-chest were boxes sunk in the
ground. Some dippers, griddles, and pans hung upon nails driven in the
tree.

Adam spread the table with a red cloth, brought chairs from the tent,
and came and leaned over Eva's cot. He was a sandy-haired, blue-eyed,
hardy-looking Scotchman, gentlemanly in his carriage, and bearing upon
his visible character the stamp of Edinbro' colleges and of Calvinistic